Rare but needed service saves others their afternoons, sanity

SPRAWL, VA - Can’t sleep at night? Most insomniacs are content to pop a pill, pilfer some pop, or move to a different time zone. But for Herbie Glays, insomnia is an entrepreneurial opportunity.

“If I could sleep at night, I’d be out of a job,” explains Glays. “I read legal documents for the sleep-inclined.”

Whether it’s a hefty warranty or twenty pages of revisions to your credit card agreement, Glays has the stamina to read it through to the bitter end.

“Every word. I promise,” says Glays. “I read it so you don’t have to. Ever.”

After reading the document, Glays notarizes it as “read,” then mails or emails it back to his client, along with a synopsis of the essential points in 25 words or less. A cell phone warranty might translate into “If it’s worked once, you can’t return it,” while a revised credit card agreement might boil down to, “Usury. More.” Or, for those who haven’t heard that term (such as mortgage officers): “The Mafia has better rates.”

Glays works from his home in a den-turned-office that sports folding chairs, irritating background music, and flickering fluorescent lights. His hours are sundown to sunup, and he only receives guests or reporters between 1 and 3 AM.

Truly, Glays has an ability to stay awake that is almost unusual. But he didn’t always realize his hidden talent. After receiving his second Master’s degree, his first job was the day shift at a local bowling alley, “giving people their bowling shoes.” At night, he would try to sleep, but would still be staring at the ceiling long after his wife Geraldine had “drifted off to Dreamburg.”

Glays tried all the usual remedies for his “problem”: late night television, strange teas, imagining sheep and then counting them. “I was a bit wild and unpredictable, but my goal was always the same—to get to sleep.” Nothing worked. Finally, Glays had to face facts.

“I knew I was a true insomniac when I was still awake after a two-hour infomercial for imported Lithuanian pool tables,” he says. “Unlike domestic Lithuanian pool tables, the imported Lithuanian pool tables were made in India, with a unique extra-smooth felt that made gameplay not only satisfying, but soothing. As one happy customer, Cubby Shark of Gary, Indiana, put it—wait, I’m sorry, but do you usually snore during interviews?”

Amazed that he had not only weathered the infomercial, but listened to it, Glays, inspired, dug out his car insurance policy.

Forty-five minutes later, he had read every word.

The next morning, he quit the bowling alley, and took out a loan for a sofa. A one-man business was born.

“Occasionally, a client won’t believe that I actually read the document. I simply ask them to prove it. Then chuckle wickedly.” He chuckles wickedly. “Generally, however, my clients are overwhelmingly grateful. People will write me tender thank-you notes, send me flowers, kiss my feet…I don’t understand. I’ve begun to find the documents fascinating.

“My particular specialty these days is the software license agreement. You know, when you install new software and have to scroll down through many paragraphs before you click ‘I have read and accept these conditions.’ That is a popular service. My goodness. My income has quadrupled. A Mormon lady wanted to be my second wife.”

Yet even Glays, the master of monotony, has met his match.

“Around 2:30 AM, if I’m not chatting with a guest or dictating to a reporter’s tape recorder while he sleeps on my couch, I take a break and watch something light, relaxing, even boring. Not too relaxing, though. Once, I made the mistake of popping on CNN. The next thing I knew, I had slept until morning.”

Group Fights for Stronger Safety Measures

Sunsets. Most of us have seen them, but how many of us have ever considered their impact on traffic?

“Let’s face it. An average sunset is more interesting to look at than the average road. That’s reality. Tough,” says Phil Gustabert. Gustabert (pronounced “Gustabert”), is the tough-talking Vice President of the National Coalition to Eliminate Sunsets as a Road Hazard (NCESRH), which is a national coalition to eliminate sunsets as a road hazard. Founded during a lengthy commute, NCESRH has worked for years to raise consciousness on this often over-looked safety issue.

While the precise number of accidents caused by sunsets is not yet known, few would deny that they’re a potential distraction. “Potential? They’re the whole sky,” says Gustabert. “My aunt used to drive me home from work, and she couldn’t go half a mile without glancing up. They’re a menace.”

While many agree that drivers should keep their eyes on the road, the unenlightened might assume that this responsibility is ultimately up to the drivers themselves. Or even, in a moment of pre-industrial laziness, wonder what precisely we could do about sunsets.

While many would attempt to avoid using the same opening sentence structure three times in a row, few would admit defeat, cut their losses, and forge ahead.

In the days before NCESRH, there were recorded incidents of drivers actually pulling over and getting out to get a good look at a sunset. Sadly, this delay completely contradicted the point of owning a motor vehicle. “I think I did that once in 1987,” says one driver who appears to be female. “Never did again. Missed half of Cheers. Get that microphone out of my face! The light’s green! GROWL!”

Today, only NCESRH has a plan to eliminate this hazard forever.

“Tunnels,” says Gustabert. “Lots and lots of tunnels. Tough tunnels. A Tunnel On Every Street by Two Thousand and ‘Eeet’!“

Unlike conventional tunnels, these “Arches of Safety” would be inexpensive and quickly built, consisting primarily of PVC pipe and industrial-grade plastic. “Like a cheap carport, except really really long,” explains Gustabert. The opaque plastic, probably black or cafeteria green, would keep out not only sunsets, but landscapes, attractive bystanders, and air. Anything, in fact, likely to distract drivers, or remind them that they were still on Earth.

“Picture it,” says Gustabert. “Ultimate safety. Tough safety.”

Unresolved issues remain, such as lighting, but Gustabert is confident. Until recently, NCESRH faced an uphill battle for funding. While many lawmakers were intrigued at the sheer scale of the infrastructure involved, none could deny that the project would require cuts in more important projects, such as the colonization of the Middle East. Then NCESRH turned to the corporate sector.

“Never say the Big Boys aren’t generous,” says Gustabert. Only last week, a single corporation agreed to subsidize the entire project: Crap-Mart.

“We are good neighbors, and fewer car accidents will mean more shoppers at Crap-Mart,” says Genghis Khan, a high-ranking executive at the giant retailer.

Predictably, the undeserved beneficence has been questioned. “It says on the web site that the tunnels will have commercials,” snaps Edwardo Cologne, an irritating crank. “Miles and miles and miles of commercials. For Crap-Mart. To get anywhere. That’s one Dante didn’t even touch.”

Fortunately, the apparent irony of rescuing drivers from distraction by encasing them in a world of billboards is only apparent, apparently. Recent scientific evidence suggests that through a process not yet fully understood, billboards actually enhance driver concentration.

“We’ve run the study three times. It’s good,” affirms Khan.

With funding, NCESRH expects to move forward within the year. Tunnels will appear first on major highways near Crap-Mart Supercenters, then branch out until every road is safe, or the planet runs out of plastic.

“It’ll be tough, but we can do it,” says Gustabert. “Tough. Tough. Tough. I like that word.”

Freelancer finds success as he reads e-mails, sits

Newsletters. Before the Internet, newsletters were on paper. Paper was cheaper to mail than stone tablets, and also easier to fold into standard envelopes.

Today, newsletters are often mailing lists—each “issue” is an e-mail. Some are basically press releases, others are archived chatrooms. Unlike yesterera, it’s all free. People can subscribe to five, ten, eleven different lists. But no one has joined as many as Querby DeMoore, Professional Mailing List Subscriber.

Querby plies his craft in a cozy home office on a third floor apartment that appears to have been renovated in the late 1920s. Despite the lessened effects of gravity at this altitude, Querby’s sizable bulk remains firmly attracted to the floor as he chuckles, mutters, and stares at his screen.

Fabricated Press: Good afternoon, Querby, and thanks for chatting with the Fabricated Press. Today, there are mailing lists for so many different groups, from caretakers of performing koalas to veterans of the Civil War—

Querby: Yes, I know.

FP: Right. So, how do you choose which mailing lists to grab, and which to leave as roadkill on the information superhighway?

Querby: I have one wife and two kids.

Mrs. DeMoore: [from the kitchenette/bedroom] Honey! Three kids!

FP: I’m sorry, Querby, my question was—

Querby: Huh?

FP: While we have eye contact, let me ask, how did you get into this business?

Querby: Oh, I’ve been a freelancer for awhile. Back in 2003, I had this idea to design web pages from home.

FP: Brilliant.

Querby: I did some work for my old company, but they just sold pickle jar lids. That kind of tapered off. So I e-mailed my portfolio to these other pickle jar lid companies … saw their … one second …

FP: (Querby is actually reading e-mails as we speak.)

Querby: … patented … chalupas …

FP: Chalupas?

Querby: What? Oh, sorry. Some guy on this list’s trying to patent chalupas. He’s gotten as far as the cheese. Anyway, after my car hit that llama—

FP: Wait, I think we missed something.

Querby: Doesn’t matter. I spent a lot of time online, and I just started subscribing to all these mailing lists. That’s about it.

FP: But so many. At last count, you’d joined over 2,319 mailing lists.

Querby: It’s a lifestyle. Started out as a hobby, grew into something more.

FP: So here you are, living your dream.

Querby: The tricky part’s the money. That old demon “income.”

FP: I notice you’re sitting on the floor.

Querby: Bill collectors. Took the chair.

FP: Your monitor doesn’t look particularly stable on that pile of newspapers.

Querby: Just don’t touch it.

FP: How do you make money?

Querby: Well, I’ve tried to get corporate sponsors. I could subscribe with a name that was a link to their site, likeRarelyLeakPickleJarLids_com, then rake in the clickthrough cash. But no one’s bit. My wife suggested I do a column, the “Mailing List Review.”

FP: Sounds intriguing.

Querby: I don’t have the time. I’m no skimmer, you know. Everyword matters. These are my friends around the world, mycommunities. If I miss … something … one second …

FP: We’re all part of different communities, aren’t we? Residents of both the globe and the block. Did you know the house across the street from you recently blew up?

Querby: Huh? No, didn’t hear about that … hold on … work from home …market your … fingernails …

Mrs. DeMoore: Querby! Lunch time!

Querby: … one second …

Mrs. DeMoore: QUERBY!

FP: (Mrs. DeMoore just lobbed a tuna melt sandwich at Querby’s head. The sandwich is slowly slipping down his unshaven jowl.)

Querby: … indications … not a real beanie baby …

FP: And there you have it. Querby DeMoore, freelance—

Querby: Hey. Why’s there a tuna sandwich on my face? Dangit, now I have to wash my hands.

FP: Need help getting up?

Querby: I’ll be fine, once I get feeling back in my legs. Only been sitting here, what, three days? Might be good to hit the bathroom while I’m up.

Suspects claim they “came to help”

SPRAWL, VA - Two extremely small midgets calling themselves “elves” were arrested for breaking and entering last night at a local franchise of Fritz’s Footwear Festival, the national shoe chain.

“I was working late, and I heard these chirpy voices downstairs, like parakeets,” said franchise owner Ricky Filch. “My grandma has parakeets, so I know what they sound like. I checked the security monitors, but there weren’t any parakeets! Just these two weirdos in goofy clothes, making a big mess.”

The nature of the “mess” is at this time unclear. Filch, who was frightened by the “retro” outfits and remained upstairs, described the monitor scene as “messy, a mess.” But Marius Nitch, a disgruntled employee, claims to have gone down to the showroom and witnessed “a magnificent pile of fabulous shoes.”

“These were no Fritz Footwear pieces de crappez,” ranted Nitch, lapsing into his native German. “Any one of these glittering masterpieces could fetch the price of a king’s ransom. Or even a month’s mortgage here in Northern Virginia.”

Nitch’s story veers from the laughable to the ominous, however, when he further claims that the suspects had visited before.

“This was the third time they piled our showroom with shoes worth showing,” Nitch said. “But did my esteemed employer ever stock his shelves with splendor as the visitors wished? No! Each time, the wealth vanished by morning, and Filch happened not to mention the incident to his superiors at Fritz Footwear.”

“He’s nuts,” countered Filch, who recently bought his first Lamborghini. “We’re a franchise. If some ‘elves’ had given us ‘free shoes,’ I’d have died before I sold them without Fritz getting its cut. Fritz is our family. When I call them up, I say, ‘Hi, Dad.’”

Indeed, it’s the paternal care of Fritz Footwear that succeeded in bringing the suspects to justice. Only last week, the company mandated that every Fritz franchise install state-of-the-art burglar alert systems. Although the suspects managed not to enter without visibly affecting the locks, the new infrared sensors detected them, and the system notified the local police.

“I celebrate this as a victory for micromanagers everywhere,” exulted Mr. Dad Abu, a high-ranking Fritz Footwear executive. “If these ‘elves’ want to provide shoes to the American public, we invite them to work for our contractors in China and make a good ten cents an hour. Ha. Besides, as we all know, real elves are tall, long-haired blondes with not quite unnoticeable makeup.”

The suspects may face charges of breaking and entering, transportation of stolen merchandise, and working without a green card. “We’re also investigating possible connections to known terrorists,” said a Republican running for re-election. “They didn’t have passports, visas, or Social Security numbers, and they sure don’t look American.”

The suspects did not post bail, which was set at $5,000. Although the suspects instead offered Judge Trudy Moody her choice of a chest of precious stones, the deepest desire of her heart, or the ability to climb rainbows, Moody reminded them that none of these items would be valid U. S. currency.

The suspects are currently awaiting trial. At the time of this writing, they have remained in custody without incident, except for turning the hall guard into a donkey.